The fantasies always got a little spicy after that.

Still, even when he did look at me, my instant reaction was to look away, to hide, to sink into the crowd and become invisible once more. Attention like that made me uncomfortable, made me self-conscious, made me wonder if I had something in my teeth rather than if I was desirable. I wasn’t the kind of girl who could hold his stare once I had it, who could smirk and lift a brow or lick my lips or draw a seductive circle on the rim of my coffee.

I didn’t have main character energy.

I was more of the quirky, cute best friend with all the sage advice.

I sighed, heart longing for something that seemed so out of reach. When Shawn glanced at me again, I hid my face just like always, cheeks burning, and then I peeked up at Clay, who just cocked a brow like he’d caught me red-handed.

Or in this case, red-faced.

All my life, I’d been too scared to go for what I wanted — I was the exact opposite of Maliyah, of Clay, of everyone I worked with on the team. I wasn’t like my siblings, destined for greatness and like a magnet to anyone in my vicinity. I wasn’t like my boss, who commanded attention in every room she graced.

I was the side kick, and I had always been content to be in the background.

But now, for the first time, I found myself yearning for the spotlight.

And for a freaking boyfriend, for science’s sake.

Uncrossing my legs, I leaned forward, folding my hands together on the table. “We need terms. Conditions. Rules.”

When a smooth tilt of Clay’s lips was his only response, I wondered just how much trouble I was getting myself into.

I held up a finger. “The first one being that regardless of what you help me with Shawn-wise, you do whatever I need you to do for the media. I’ll leave you alone for the next couple weeks like I promised, but come Chart Day, you play the perfect college athlete and make me look good.”

“Sounds like a lopsided deal now.”

“Is it really, if you can get Maliyah back?”

He tilted his head at my challenge, sitting back in his chair and crossing his ankle over the opposite knee. He had to back all the way up from under the table to do so. “Touché. What else?”

I sat back, tapping a finger against my chin as I tried to recall all the fake-dating tropes I’d read. The truth was I read about a book a day, so they all blurred together after a while. But one thing I knew about pretending to date someone was that you absolutely needed rules, or things got messy.

“No PDA,” I finally said.